Practicing Islam and Having a Dance Career Aren't Incompatible

Growing up, I never saw a problem with my dancing and neither did my Muslim-Egyptian dad or my non-Muslim, American mom. They raised me to understand that the core principles of Islam, of any religion, are meant to help us be better people. When I married my Pakistani husband, who comes from a more conservative approach to Islam, I suddenly encountered perceptions of dance that made me question everything: Is it okay to expose a lot of skin? Is it wrong to dance with other men? Is dance inherently sexual? What guidelines come from our holy book, the Quran, and what are cultural views that have become entwined in Islam?

Idris Ademola, Courtesy Shah

I became so overwhelmed that I quit dance for about a year. When I left it, I left myself. Even though I didn't have all the answers, my gut convinced me that dance is it for me. So I accepted that things could get messy and dove back in. Besides a clear rule of no nudity, my ideas on modesty became more responsive to the art, and less focused on one inch of extra fabric or the placement of my partner's hands. The clearer I became in my convictions, the more my family and friends accepted my decisions.

As a freelancer, I always research a company or choreographer before signing on to a production, and I occasionally pass on opportunities if I know a conflict will arise. I don't worry anymore about missing out because I know I can choreograph my own work.

Idris Ademola, Courtesy Shah

I often start my day silently reciting a few simple prayers: "Help me use my dance not just for my own happiness but for the benefit of others. Ease my doubts when I worry that the sacrifices and burdens of dance may outweigh the reward." But it's easy for that intention to blur amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, which is why one of the pillars of Islam is performing five daily prayers. Although I don't complete them in the traditional manner (which involves a pattern of standing and kneeling), I weave them in as I speed-walk through Central Park or sit on the subway, commuting from one job or rehearsal to the next.

Another pillar is fasting during the month of Ramadan. From sunrise to sunset, which can exceed 15 hours, I abstain from food and drink, including water. It's a time for reflection, charity and renewed gratitude for the basic necessities. But life doesn't stop just because it's Ramadan. I still have to go to work, class and rehearsal. I'll wake up around 3 am to guzzle water and eat a healthy meal that will help sustain me until sunset. If I'm in the middle of rehearsal when the sun falls, I'll take a few minutes to break my fast with a light snack and water.

Idris Ademola, Courtesy Shah

Sometimes non-fasting friends or my mom will be concerned about my health, but I assure them that if I ever feel ill I won't fast that day. I've also learned to listen to my body. There are days when I skip a two-hour class and opt for a nap. Other times, it's exhilarating to push through the last 30 minutes of my fast by going for a run.

I used to be filled with anxiety as Ramadan approached. But last year I had a breakthrough. I spent the month collaborating with writer/director Jesca Prudencio of Ping Chong + Company and fellow Muslim performer Natsumi Sophia Bellali to workshop Calling: a dance with faith. It's a biographical dance theater piece about Bellali's and my experiences being Muslim and dancers. Prudencio mined our personal stories, and we addressed our fears of being seen as "representatives" of Islam and all Muslim dancers.

Idris Ademola, Courtesy Shah

We confronted our peers' stereo­types—"Isn't dance against your religion?"—along with misconceptions we face from other Muslims—"Oh, so you're a belly dancer?" or "I didn't realize that dance can be more than a hobby." We danced until we passed out on the ground smiling. For the first time in my career, I was able to bring my love for dance and my faith into the same space.

Many mornings I take ballet class at New York City Center, a ritual as comforting as daily prayers. The person beside me doesn't know that I am Muslim, and I have no clue if they practice a specific faith. But it doesn't matter. In our multicolored socks and shoes we are a motley crew assembled for the same reason—to dance.

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<p>"About six weeks to a month before we shot, Josephine sent me a storyboard and a whole lookbook. I found that really inspiring because I often struggle, in my own work, to communicate all my ideas. I thought, why don't I make lookbooks?" Driscoll said in a recent conversation.</p><p>After rehearsal, we headed to a hotel for the night. As a concert dancer, even this indie film felt lavish to me: All our meals were provided and we each got our own hotel room. The next morning we were up early to head back to set for hair and makeup. This was a long process, but watching the hair and makeup team get everyone into 1940s glam was one of my favorite parts of the experience.</p><p>The costume team sourced almost all the clothing from vintage stores, so most of what we were wearing was completely authentic to the time period. We were included in the crowd scenes, which showed students coming and going from class, as well as a few others, so we changed between different costumes throughout the day, sneaking in extra rehearsal time here and there.</p>

<p>To help direct movement in certain parts of the film, including crowd scenes and an eerie dream sequence, director Josephine Decker brought on choreographer <a href="https://www.dancemagazine.com/search/?q=Faye+Driscoll" target="_self">Faye Driscoll</a>, who has choreographed extensively for theater and film in addition to her own performance work. Driscoll also worked with Decker on the acclaimed indie film <em>Madeline's Madeline</em>.</p><p>At the last minute, the production team decided to cast dancers for a few scenes. I was one of them, and the whirlwind experience was my first commercial gig. I answered a casting call on a Tuesday, and by Friday I was in a van being driven to Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, where <em>Shirley</em> was filming on location. There were three other dancers—Tara Sheena, Lyric Danae, and Allegra Herman. We had just one afternoon to rehearse our main scene, which was shot the next day.</p><p>Our dance scene was the dream sequence, where we appeared alongside actress Victoria Pedretti, whose character is something of a temptress. As we dove into our rapid rehearsal process, Driscoll started by showing us a collection of images she and Decker had compiled to inspire the scene, ranging from sexy to grotesque.</p>

<p>By the time we got to our dance scene, the sun had gone down. We were working in and around a large tree, and the crew had set up a single massive light to illuminate the area. It was late in the day and everyone had been working since early that morning. We were told, basically, to just go for it. We performed several different movement sequences that Driscoll had put together, with the camera rolling the whole time.<br></p><p>"Those days there were like tech, dress, and a show, but with no catharsis," says Driscoll. "I love working in film, but so much of it really is delayed gratification."</p>

<p>With no real-time feedback, it's hard to tell whether what you're doing is working or not—but the crew and other actors on set were enthusiastic. "I remember people being so blown away, which was so interesting, because that wasn't something I would put on stage. But it was nice to see, because as dancers we labor and labor away for the people who love this thing that we do. And that's part of what is so valuable, that we have this community. But to get to do something like this that was a little bit weird, and a little bit outside the mainstream, it gives us a boost," says Driscoll.</p><p>Of course, we left the set knowing that everything we did could end up being cut from the film. This is partly true: Driscoll says that only a small snippet made it in. But even that little bit, as well as her work directing the movement of bodies in other scenes, shows how a dancer's perspective can enrich film.</p><p>"So many people are really not in their bodies, and that's surprising to dancers," says Driscoll. "A little bit of the information we have can go a long way."</p><p>You don't have to wait for theaters to reopen to see the movie—<em>Shirley </em>is available on Hulu and on-demand platforms like iTunes and Amazon Prime starting today.</p>